


Momentum

by bonibaru



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: BAMF Alec Lightwood, Don't Touch Magnus Bane, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:36:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonibaru/pseuds/bonibaru
Summary: Valentine's men took the man that he loves, and Alec intends to take him back.





	Momentum

The last time the Institute’s proximity alarm went off, the red circle flashing ominously on the screen had been Raphael Santiago carrying Simon’s limp, blood-drained body to lay at Clary’s feet. This time, Alec walks out alone and finds Raphael again – only now his normally impeccable clothing is torn, covered in blood, and he is carrying something much smaller, something hard and metallic that he presses into Alec’s hands before collapsing to his knees, gasping.

Alec closes his eyes. The ring is cold, heavy. He doesn’t need to look at it; he already knows it just by touch. He traces the indentation of the calligraphic _M_ engraved on its surface. Something is encrusted along the rim, tucked in the curves of the letter; something dry and flaky. He opens his eyes, stares for a moment at the dried blood as it crumbles off his fingertips. Is it Raphael’s blood? _Please be Raphael's blood_. He looks down at the huddled form on the stairs; Raphael, breathing heavily more out of habit and stress than from actually needing air, looks up and meets his gaze head-on.

“The Circle,” Raphael says, simply. “Six of them. We were just walking; we never saw or heard them coming.”

 _Valentine’s tricks_ , Alec thinks. The Downworlder blood, the experiments – their enemy keeps getting more powerful and more brazen with every passing day. And more dangerous: it's no small thing to be able catch both a Vampire and a Warlock, off guard.

“You left him,” Alec snarls. His hand tightens around the ring. A Werewolf will fight for its pack, its friends, but a Vampire … He pictures Magnus struggling, fighting alone, Raphael speeding away to save his own skin. Alec’s jaw tightens. He feels the weight of the quiver on his back.

“I would never. Never! He yelled at me to run.” Raphael has the audacity to look insulted. He gestures at his blood-soaked clothes. “I almost didn’t get the chance. Guess I’m a little out of practice these days. I only managed to take out the one who followed me.” Alec only now notices the wide, healing gash in the Vampire’s chest through his torn shirt. Wider than a seraph blade, barely an inch to the right of his heart.

“I went back as fast as I could, but the ring was all I found. Wouldn't surprise me if he dropped it on purpose. Can you use it to track him?” Raphael coughs suddenly, a harsh, dry sound, hand clutched to his chest. His skin is paper-white - he has lost a _lot_ of blood, Alec realizes. Raphael isn’t kidding when he says he almost didn’t make it.

If Raphael hadn’t been with Magnus, hadn’t made it to the Institute - would Alec ever have found out? Would he have just been left waiting for Magnus, unknowing, until the wait became alarmingly long, not even a clue where to look until they finally took him out of reach - or worse …

Alec frowns down at the kneeling Vampire. He extends his arm, palm up, wrist exposed. His expression softens, though his voice doesn’t. He owes Raphael a debt.

“Drink.”

***  
Tracking Magnus with the ring proves remarkably easy; they haven’t taken him far at all. The empty office building isn’t even hard to find. It’s either a trap, or The Circle’s confidence (or stupidity) is running high. With Valentine imprisoned in Idris, Alec suspects the latter. He speculates that it's the most likely reason for this kidnapping, as well: they probably hope to try to trade Magnus for Valentine, or force the Warlock to help the Circle break him out.

Alec creeps in soundlessly and quickly finds them in a deserted open space on the first floor. The only light comes from side windows, so the hallway where he approaches from is in deep shadow; he peers carefully around the corner to gauge the situation. Three men in black gear stand together off to one side of the mostly empty room, closest to Alec, talking quietly.  Magnus is deeper into the room, bound to a column. Two more men stand in front of Magnus, red Circle runes visible on their necks. One is half turned and speaking to the other, his shoulder partially blocking Alec’s view of the bound Warlock. Still, Alec can see heavy iron chains wrapped around Magnus’s waist and legs. His wrists are encircled by finer chains, linked behind his back, his arms crossed around his chest. Magnus is gagged with a piece of white cloth tied behind his head, but his eyes are uncovered. Though Magnus’s face is half in shadow, Alec can see them shining: glitter-bright, watchful. Alec grimaces. None of their faces are covered, which means Magnus will remember them, can identify them. Which means they have no intention of letting Magnus walk out alive.

Just then the man steps away from Magnus, turning toward the others. Light sweeps fully over Magnus’s face and in that instant Alec clearly sees a palm-sized purpling bruise darkening across Magnus’s cheek. His vision narrows to red, laser-focused on that bruise. The fear, the worry that crept in with him crystallize into something harder - something deadly. These men didn’t just take Magnus, they didn’t just bind him. They _hurt_ Magnus. These men hurt Magnus _on purpose,_ and there is nothing about that which Alec is going to be willing or able to forgive.

Silently, smoothly, Alec selects an arrow, nocks it into place. Alec has not come here as a Shadowhunter. He is not here to protect a Downworlder, he is not here to uphold the Law or the Accords, nor even to hunt The Circle. This is not a mission. No one but Raphael even knows where he is. Alec is here because Valentine’s men took the man that he loves, and Alec intends to take him back.

The man closest to Magnus steps forward again, gesturing to the three across the room. “Go and get -“ but he never finishes, the next sound out of his mouth just a gurgle of blood and foam as Alec’s red-fletched arrow pierces his throat. The missile flies with such force that it blasts all the way through his neck and out the other side, imbedding itself deeply in the eye of the man standing just behind him.

Alec charges into the room the instant the arrow leaves the string, seraph blade blazing. Alec catches a fleeting glimpse of Magnus staring at him, eyes impossibly wide; hears the dying rogue Nephilim’s sharp scream cut off abruptly as both pierced bodies slump to the floor, blood pooling at Magnus’s feet. The nearest of the remaining three men barely has time to turn, weapon only half drawn, before Alec’s blade drives down through his collarbone almost to the hip and slicing his torso nearly in two.  He dies without making a sound. Alec leaps through the misting spray of blood as the body crashes sideways, blade whistling again through the air. But the next man has his sword fully drawn and flings it up to parry the lethal blow. He shoves Alec back and away, and they circle one another, warily.

Magnus makes a sharp, urgent sound in his throat, muffled by the gag but Alec hears it in time to spin, ducking a blow from behind and slashing outward and upward, but the new attacker sidesteps away just in time. Torn fabric dangles from the end of Alec’s blade, but with the slow-motion clarity of sight that comes in battle Alec can see there is no dark stain of blood; the man is not harmed.

Neither is Alec though, and he lets his own momentum carry him through the spin. Heightened senses sharpened further by hours, days, years of muscle memory tell him exactly where his body is in space, exactly where his opponent is as well. After they became _parabata_ i, Jace had made him practice roundhouse kicks over and over and over in the training room, sometimes blindfolded, sometimes with his hands tied behind his back, sometimes both at once until he could land a deadly blow every time with precision. Jace may have been faster, but Alec had height and reach on his side, and Jace was determined for him to make the most of his long-limbed advantage. Many nights Alec would fall into bed with his thighs aching, his feet throbbing from repeated blows, muttering curses under his breath and plotting revenge on his _parabata_ i. But every sore muscle, every lingering memory of pain becomes worth it as the broad side of his booted foot makes contact with the man’s face. All of Alec’s enhanced strength and speed is behind the blow as it connects. The man’s head is thrown sharply, awkwardly to the side; the loud crack that splits the air and the boneless way the man falls, silently, almost softly tells Alec that it’s down to one on one, now – but as he comes around swiftly, seraph blade at the ready, no one else is there. The last man is gone, vanished without a fight.

Alec is at first surprised, then relieved, then furious all in the space of a breath; he turns and slams his fist into a nearby wall as hard as he can. It is enough, the brief shock of pain cuts through the surge of rage. He takes a deep breath and then catches movement in the corner of his eye: Magnus, still bound and gagged, still wide-eyed, struggling against his chains.

Alec drops his seraph blade to the stone floor with a clatter and darts to Magnus’s side, stele flashing in his hand. He unties the gag quickly so Magnus can breathe, before setting to work on the chains.

“Alec,” Magnus gasps. He’s paler than Alec can remember ever seeing him; it makes the bruise stand out more starkly against his skin. “Alec, are you insane? Coming here alone, you could have been killed! What were you thinking!” Alec is startled, the moving stele in his hand pauses for a fraction of a second. The fear in Magnus’s tone is palpable. Magnus is the one who was in danger, but yet Magnus is worried for _him_. Alec knows Magnus isn't really angry with him, but it gives him pause anyway. Alec still isn’t used to that kind of concern from someone who isn’t his sister or his _parabatai_. These feelings, this love between them – the love Alec feels every day not just in his heart, but in muscle, sinew, and bone – this is the weakness his mother always warned him about. This is the vulnerable, careless space that might someday get one, or both of them, killed. And Magnus, who has lived for centuries longer than any Shadowhunter could ever dream, is most likely right: Alec needs to get this under control, and fast, so he can think more clearly and not do something stupid - he almost thinks _next time_ , but tells himself quickly that there isn't going to _be_ a next time, because he isn't letting Magnus out of his sight again.

Valentine, others like him - they exploit love and friendship and loyalty, every vulnerability they can find and it isn’t fair, it isn’t _right._ Alec hates them doubly for it. Renewed anger floods through him, anger and something more, something colder. Alec will find that last man, Alec will track him down and Alec will kill him, and Valentine too in Idris - Clave be damned, and all of the rest of the Circle along with them. He hears Magnus’s voice in his head from their first meeting, from what seems like an eternity ago: _This fight is far from over_. Alec fiercely agrees; Alec won’t let this fight end until Valentine and the Circle are no longer a threat, until all the anger is burned out of him. Even if he has to kill each of them one by one with his bare hands, no one will ever touch Magnus like that, take Magnus like that, again. No one. Not ever, not while Alec lives to protect him.

Alec breathes deeply; finishes the last rune as the last chain sizzles and drops to the floor. He takes Magnus by the arm, as gently as he dares, helping him step over and out of the tangle of iron. Magnus holds onto his shoulder with one hand for balance, flexing the fingers of the other and gathering the blue flame of his magic as Alec turns to face him. “Did they hurt you,” Alec asks, glad that his voice isn’t shaking. He runs his hands over Magnus’s arms, probing his ribs, skimming across his chest, searching for any wounds, finding none but unable to stop touching him, even so.

Magnus doesn’t answer at first. He lifts his hand from where it rests on Alec’s shoulder, fingertips shining darkly wet. Magnus looks at the blood; blue sparks crackling from his palms suddenly become tinged with red. As Magnus's expression starts to change, Alec grips his arm tightly. “It’s not my blood. Magnus! I'm OK. It’s not mine.”

Magnus blinks, shakes his head the tiniest bit. Red sparks cool, turn blue again, then fade away. “No, they didn’t,” Magnus says, reaching for Alec’s hands, stilling them between his own. He raises Alec’s fingers to his lips, kisses them softly. “I'm not really hurt. They only caught me by surprise, just needed to stun me so they could bind my hands. I didn’t fight back once they had me surrounded. I knew they'd only come for me; I wanted Raphael to be able to get away. Look, it’s already healing.” He angles his jaw so Alec can see the fading bruise, gone from purple to yellow in a matter of moments as Magnus’s magic returns.

The flood of relief is immeasurable. “Good,” Alec says, but this time his voice does crack and the word comes out barely above a whisper. “Good.” And he pulls Magnus against him, into his arms, his now-shaking hands buried in Magnus’s hair, comforted by the slow steady rhythm of Magnus’s heartbeat against the racing in his own chest.

**Author's Note:**

> When you can't find the story you want to read, and you know the show isn't going to write it for you either, you write it for yourself.  
> TY for feedback xoxox it makes the world go round.


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